Les Jours Tristes
by Praeceps Aestas
Summary: Short, sweet holiday fluff. Taito.


**Les Jours Tristes**

  
  
  


~_ So I walk up on high_

And I step to the edge

To see my world below.

And I laugh at myself

As the tears roll down.

'Cause it's the world I know.~

  
  
  
From his vintage spot on the couch in his room, he could see through a crack in the curtains a bit of the grayish sky outside. He contemplated the fragment of the outside world for an instant. It was all still there. If, hypothetically speaking, he were to get up and walk towards the small window and draw back the curtains, the world he knew would still be there.   
  
At one point in time, that had been very much different. It seemed like another life, another person who had lived all those things to him now, sitting in his over-heated room with a blanket wrapped tightly around him. The comfort of his home made the entire experience in the Digital world seem so unreal. It took moments like these to remember it these days. And he had to remember sometimes. At times like these, when he wished secretly, in his heart, that the world outside his room would stop existing - or no, just be temporarily frozen in time - he forced himself to remember the way he had felt while he had really been lost in another world. It was one of those things that would keep him sane on days like this one, when the only thing reminding him of the outside world was a bit of gray sky seen through a crack in the curtains.   
  
He wondered what time it could be. The light sifting into his room gave him no clue; it had been the same shade of dull all day. He couldn't remember it getting very light at any time in the past days. Either gray and cloudy or dark and cloudy, that's what it had been. He didn't keep a clock in his room when he was working on something, and he had been working since he got up that morning. It could have been afternoon, he didn't know what time it had been when he'd collapsed the previous night or what time it had been when he'd woken up. Logically, if he'd been keeping track, it was now Wednesday. But he wouldn't bet anything on it. If he were right that would mean today was his birthday. December's 21st, Ishida Yamato's sixteenth. Birthday cakes: none. Invitees: none. Birthday cards: none. Phone calls from friends and relatives: none. But, he thought, the last two are unfair. And they were: he hadn't been downstairs to check the mailbox in four days and he'd pulled the plug out of the telephone the day his father had left on his business trip to Kuala Lumpur. He had said goodbye to Takeru and his mother the day before. They had flown out to Singapore to visit an old school friend of hers. And even though Takeru had pretended he was devastated to be away for his birthday and the holidays like the sweet brother he was, he had been very excited about the trip. His friends and band members he'd said goodbye to the day after, last day of school. He'd told them he'd call, and they'd waved him off cheerily.   
  
But the only one he'd even consider calling on his holiday, best friend and all-time goofball Yagami Taichi, had left on a last-minute trip to his grandmothers with his family. Taichi had known that all his relatives would be gone for his birthday and the end-of-year holidays. He'd been planning on an extended help-Yamato-through-winter sleepover, because as he put it 'you may like your company, Matt, but I won't let you hog it like this. I want my share.' And that had been the last of it At first, he'd even been planning a gigantic birthday/christmas/newyear party for all their friends and acquaintances, but he'd been able to talk the crazy boy out of that one. But even when he'd finally convinced him that he didn't need a hundred teenagers in his father's apartment to make him happy, and finely pointed out he'd certainly not be the one cleaning up their mess afterwards, Taichi had insisted he needed a celebration, even if it would only be the two of them. And he'd started looking forward to the entire thing, until suddenly that last morning Taichi had come running up to him with a panicked look in his eyes. He'd been breathless, presumably from running all the way to school to find him in time. Tai wasn't supposed to have any classes that day, so he'd been very surprised to see him at school at that time.   
  
'Matt, I'm so sorry! I can't come to your place! My parents! Decided we're going to see Grandma…now, after Kari's last period… won't let me stay at home… much rather stay…can't…leaving…have to go home…'  
  
He wasn't sure it had really come out in such a jumble, but that was how he'd perceived it. Taichi breathless, panicked look, highly incoherent. It might have been him who wasn't able to listen anymore after that fist sentence. He'd smiled at the sight of Taichi hurling towards him over the frozen grass, and he'd felt the smile leaving his face. He knew he'd pulled his shoulders back, tensed every muscle in his body into a defensive stance, but he couldn't help it. He'd really been looking forward to the holiday these past weeks, even with the news of Takeru leaving.  
'Fine' he'd said. And he'd known even at this moment how cold his voice had sounded. But he was really, irrationally angry at the usually happy-go-lucky boy in front of him, now looking at him with hurt in his eyes. 'I hope you'll have fun.'  
'Matt, please…' and he'd never seen a plea that sincere in his life. But he was hurt, and he hated being hurt. 'I really wanted to stay with you, you know that. I had loads of things planned and…'   
And he'd cut him off.   
  
'I'm going to be late for class. Excuse me.' And with that he'd turned to leave. Tai had grasped his wrist and jerked him back around and his hand had been freezing cold where it rested between the cuff of his sleeve and his glove. The plea hadn't left his intense brown eyes yet, and they were fixed on his own, trying to force him into giving in, but he was stubborn.  
  
'I'm really sorry, Matt.'  
  
And he'd jerked his arm away and walked off. The anticipation that had built up in him since they'd started planning the vacation had been gone, leaving him with an unfamiliar empty feeling. He hadn't passed the supermarket after school like they'd been planning to. He'd walked home through the park, through the cold, nursing his hurt feelings and milling the conversation over in his head, and his stomach had felt leaden. Irrationally, he thought he'd never felt worse. Of course, pain always seems worse when you're experiencing it than it does in retrospect. When he got home, he unplugged the phone. There was no one he'd wanted to talk to and phones are very unsettling to those wallowing in their own misery, he thought. They tend to jerk people back into reality when they least want to.  
  
But now, of course, five days later, the shock had worn off and the pain had dulled and he was left with regret for having been that blunt to Tai, who had obviously been as disappointed as he'd been. It was a bad habit of his, taking his anger out on those he actually cared about. One day, he figured, they'd realize what a jerk he really was and leave for good. Because apologizing wasn't exactly his strong suit either. He looked down at the notepad in his lap. He'd been scribbling away at it in his room for days, almost vindictively. He tried to decipher the last few lines he'd written last night before collapsing from exhaustion and lack of proper nourishment. 'The sun was bright over the city lights of Odaiba the city lights were bright in the sun of Odaiba. The snow fell at a steady pace over the still streets of Odaiba, the rain fell down pouring rivers over the streets of Odaiba my heart cried out loud to the streets of Odaiba, but still they stayed.', it read. He couldn't even remember writing that down. That, he decided, meant it was time for him to get some food. Sleep didn't cure malnourishment. But of course, he found all the kitchen cupboards and the fridge nearly empty. That didn't surprise him, he hadn't done any grocery shopping since his father had left. And he didn't particularly feel the urge to go out into the freezing cold only to run into one of his classmates wondering why he never called. Nor did he really feel the urge to eat much. He just knew he should. Toast, he decided. Even days-old bread made decent toast . He settled down on the living room couch with his slice of toast and a rather large glass of water, and started jumping through the channels. But the holiday cheer got the best of him within minutes, so he turned the television right back off and ate his toast in a completely silent apartment, staring at a smudge on the otherwise white wall.  
  
Throughout all this, he fully realized how stupid he was being. He knew with the rational part of his mind that he ought to go call someone. Take a shower and go out. It was holiday season after all, someone was bound to be home and all too glad to take a gloomy Ishida out to have some fun. But he wasn't sure he would be able to stand seeing other people cheerful, he wasn't sure he wouldn't take his frustration out on the first fan he encountered in the streets. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to take the walk over to one of his friends' houses and face the happy Christmas lights and decorations inside every house, light shining into the streets from the insides of houses where other people were undoubtedly happy. He'd break down crying and there wouldn't be anyone there to comfort him, as everyone had gone off to visit other people and those who had stayed home wouldn't think of leaving the comfort of their own houses to pick his pathetic ass off the ground and give him some hot chocolate. He'd freeze to death in the streets. And that, he decided, would definitely be bad publicity. No, going out wasn't the best course of action right now. It would only make him more miserable. But a shower still sounded good.   
  
And it felt good, the water was scalding hot on his skin and for a few minutes he could just relax and take care of himself without feeling guilty or miserable. It felt wonderful to lather shampoo into his hair and rinse it out thoroughly, to soap his body off and almost imagine all his worries washing off him along with the grime. Even after he'd dried off and pulled on a nice, clean pair of drawstring pants and a cotton tee, with wet hair obscuring his eyes, he felt better than he had in a week, as though some of the darkness had been lifted off him. He peered through the crack in his curtains. He could tell it was dark outside, but the sky seemed unnaturally light. It had a white glow in the darkness. Was that even possible?  
  
He started feeling restless. Something had to be done, there was only so long he could stay like this, thinking in his room. It wasn't who he was anymore. He looked at the piece of paper on the kitchen table, with Takeru's address and phone number, but finally decided against it. He was feeling better, but not quite that much. And then it hit him. Of course. He felt a great sense of relief when he picked his guitar up off the stand where it'd been waiting for him the past week. It felt comforting in his hands. Once more, he felt stupid. Why hadn't he thought of this before? The moment his hands touched the snares he was lost to the music, and in a soft voice he sang the words he's written down the nigh before, trying to find the perfect notes to go with the feel of the words, and he lost track of all things surrounding him.  
  
And then, he was roughly pulled out of his trance by the shrill sound of the doorbell. He was so shocked at the intrusion that he almost dropped his guitar. Softly, he set it down. He flexed his fingers a few times, looked down at them in wonder. They were red and blistered, and it was only now that he'd noticed. He did not know how long he had played, and he still didn't know what time it was, but it almost had to be late. He frowned. Who would come to see him? And even more puzzling, who would come to see him this late? If it were just some door-to-door vendor, he swore to himself, he'd find out who'd let the man into the building and hurt that person. Severely. He didn't take well to being disturbed when he was working. With a scowl on his face, he opened the door. And the harsh words that had already formed in his mouth died on his tongue when he realized who this person was, standing right in front of him, brown eyes staring into his own. Before he could stop himself a soft, hoarse whisper, 'Tai…'  
  
But Taichi didn't even seem to have heard. He'd averted his eyes the moment Yamato opened the door and was now very busy staring at his shoes. He had a long black scarf wrapped around his neck and up to his chin to protect him from the biting December cold. Still his cheeks were oddly red; presumably from the cold…He still wasn't looking at him. He felt like he perceived everything more sharply, like time had slowed down to allow him, Yamato, to see every detail of the world around him. Or maybe the surreal ness of the situation just made him more alert somehow, and all his senses keener than ever. For instance, he heard - no, noticed - Taichi's deep intake of breath before he spoke, and the soft tone of his voice sent shivers down his back even before the words were completely formed.   
  
'Happy Birthday, Yama…' and still his time perception was off, as though he'd felt something out of the usual was happening to him and his being wanted to make sure it wouldn't pass him by. To him, Tai's head seemed to move upward slowly, his eyes raising up to meet his steadily, and yet even though he heard the distant ping of the elevator and noticed Taichi's every movement it was too unrealistic for him to piece the puzzle together. His eyes widened when he felt Tai's cold hand on his neck, and closed when his soft lips were pressed to his. And then his world sped up hundredfold and when the soft pressure left his lips, Taichi was gone by the time he'd opened his eyes.  
  
It only took him a second to recover from the shock and come to an intuitive decision: there was no way he'd let Tai get away like he himself had gotten away little less than a week ago. He stormed down the corridor, barefoot and still in his tee and sweatpants. The elevator, of course, was on its way down. Yamato swore under his breath and hurled past it towards the stairs. He dimly realized his feet made a sick slapping sound on the cement and he didn't even feel the cold. He didn't know what he was thinking, he couldn't keep up with any of it. 'Find Taichi' was the only conscious thought on his mind. He ran through the building hallway and through the glass doors and outside where to his surprise it was now snowing, large flakes twirling down from the sky and almost completely obscuring his sight. His feet made crispy noises in the layer of snow, and there Taichi walked, rounding the corner. He could make out his slightly bent stance and the hands in his coat pockets. Even that last thought now left his mind, and it was only instinct now. He ran, not caring about the cold, the snow, anything, barely even registering. He was running so fast, he could barely stop in time and this time he was the one grabbing Taichi's hand and jerking him around, but this time he pressed his own body flush against his, closed his eyes to his, crushed his mouth to his. Taichi responded immediately and very tentatively, carefully moving his mouth against Yamato's and bringing up his arms to wrap around the thin body crushed to his. As Taichi's mouth opened against his own, as their tongues started tangling with each other inciting warmth in his body he hadn't known before, he gradually became aware of their surroundings again. The snow flakes swirled and danced around them, hitting his bare arms and melting on them. There was not a single sound in the street except the soft kissing sounds they were making. He was aware of the way Tai's thick coat felt under his bare hands, and of the new pleasant feeling his tongue touching Tai's brought him. He shivered. The kiss came to a slow end, mouths closing again and pressing against each other one time more at a different angle, and again. He broke the contact, placed his forehead against his instead. Tai's arms remained wrapped around him tightly. He was looking directly into his deep brown eyes, glistering with an entirely new gleam.  
  
'Yama…' he whispered in wonderment, to himself  
  
'Why are you here?'   
  
'I missed you. Been stupid.'   
  
'Did you…'  
  
'No. Only when I saw you.'  
  
'Me too…Tai…'  
  
'Yes'  
  
'You're staying'  
  
'You're cold'  
  
'No', and he pressed his lips back to Taichi's.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


~ The End ~

  
  
  
  
a/n: I accidentally wrote this holiday fic several weeks ago, and I thought now would be an appropriate time to be posting it. If you've managed to discover grammatical or other errors, please tell me so as I haven't found time to come back to this story - it was a rather spur of the moment thing.   
  
Merry Christmas.   
  



End file.
